Seen Through The Heart
by Saturn Emway
Summary: When Willie finally decides he's had enough of his life as a weakling, he decides to become a newsboy. But his mannerisms clash with the rugged life of the street, and his struggle is only beginning. Rated T for some language.
1. Chapter 1

_Now let me tell you. I wasn't the type of boy to get involved with a raucous bunch like the newsboys. My aunt had raised me like a Southern gentleman: speak only when spoken to, hats off for ladies, no swearing. Things like that just came natural to me, and at first I couldn't imagine who didn't know these things that I considered to basic. Racetrack Higgins was the first newsboy I saw, and just watching him about horrified me, the sheltered orphan boy with a rich English aunt. It took me a while to think about the fact that I was lucky enough to have someone to teach me all those things. As it turned out, when a twist of fate and a slew of bad luck made me become more acquainted with the newsboys, they would teach me more than I could have ever taught them_…

As soon as school was dismissed, Willie Wright got to his feet and headed for the door. Unfortunately for him, Otis Gains and Harold Mink were faster. When their teacher turned back into the schoolroom, the two large boys grabbed Willie by his arms and lifted him off his feet. Willie cursed and flailed, kicking and knowing he looked absolutely pathetic. He knew better than to think he was home free when Otis and Harold dropped him. Sure enough, a second later he found himself lying on his back in a puddle from the rain yesterday. His cap fell off, and he looked up at the leering faces of the boys who had been giving him a hard time since he was in the fifth grade.

Willie blocked out the laughter that echoed around him from his classmates, and got to his feet. His breathing was slightly heavy, and his blood boiled with a hidden fury. How many times would he have to endure this until they got tired of it? His coat and trousers were soaked through, and in the cool autumn wind, he shivered slightly. He picked his cap from the ground, and while stooped down he reasoned with himself to put on a brave face. So he did, and made his expression stony, almost aloof. His cap was wet, but he put it on his head anyway. He had the attention of the other eighth graders at this point, and his eyes scanned the crowd emotionlessly.

Otis and Harold stood nearby, chuckling to themselves. There were several others who looked on in amusement: Hazel and Florence, who laughed at anything; and then Jimmy Steff, who only laughed and played along because if Willie wasn't around to be thrown into puddles, it would be Jimmy's sorry hide they would be doing it to. Others: their names and faces known, but overall unimportant. With his eyes scanning the crowd, Willie stood straight, as he had been taught countless times, and bowed rigidly at the waist before turning and leaving the schoolyard gate.

It was a long walk back to his aunt's apartment on Fifth Avenue, and Willie shivered in his wet clothes. He was fairly sure that he would get a cold, and cringed at the thought. Whenever he had so much as a runny nose, Aunt Millie made it seem like it was terminal. Not only that, but when Willie got colds, he got them bad. As was expected for someone who regularly was the target of large, unintelligent boys such as Otis and Harold, Willie was small: fourteen years old and only five feet tall, scrawny and slight, with yellow hair and wet-looking blue eyes.

He hated the fact that everyone in his class at school hated him because his aunt had money. A lot of the kids were from poor families who lived in the tenements, and they tended to snub Willie because of his home, clothes, and fine upbringing. The manners that he had been taught were mocked and downplayed, something he couldn't understand. Willie knew he was an outcast, and he hated going to school with good reason. Which was why he was glad he was in eighth grade: after this year, he didn't have to go to school anymore. He could go on to high school, but he couldn't bear to live with the same people day after day for four more years.

The only issue was Aunt Millie. Willie knew that she would never agree to him stopping his schooling after eighth grade. A shallow woman with little life experience, Mildred could never understand her nephew's motives for making such a decision. His blood boiling because of his most recent episode, Willie reasoned that he had to tell his aunt of his desire as soon as possible: today.

As he turned a corner, Willie heard a voice: "The hell happened to you?"

It wasn't a voice he recognized, but he assumed he was being addressed. He turned to see a boy with newspapers 

held under his arm and a bemused expression on his face. Good to know I'm such a spectacle, Willie thought to himself bitterly. He responded to the newsboy laconically, using words that had been drilled into his head. "You shouldn't concern yourself for my sake." Willie had been taught it was the polite thing to say to avoid a question, but all he could figure from it was a nice way of saying _None of your business_.

The newsboy scoffed. "I ain't concerned none, friend. All I wanna know is what the hell happened. Looks like ya got a good story to tell…"

Willie shook his head. "I don't think you'd find interest in my affairs."

"Boy, are you uptight…"

"I'll thank you to let me on my way." Willie had been called uptight before, but not by a stranger. And this boy seemed like he was just fishing for something amusing to tell his friends about later. He was aware of how often his discomfort was used as a soruce of amusement for others, and he couldn't appreciate it.

The newsboy paused for a moment, and then he nodded, a glint in his eye. "Ah, I get it. So who pushed ya?"

"No one pushed me…" Willie said indignantly.

"Sorry. Someone _tripped_ ya, then…"

"No!"

"Ya fell in by yourself?"

"Will you stop?" Willie found that he had lost his temper considerably. He took a breath in an attempt to gather himself again, as the newsboy laughed aloud.

Willie watched, shocked, as the newsboy then took a cigar from his vest pocket, struck a match on the heel of his shoe, and lit it. The newsboy said between puffs, "Sorry, friend, I don't mean to fluster ya. But I'm just wonderin' how a fella goes about gettin' the seat of his trousers soaked with rain water…"

After a pause, Willie admitted, "Someone dropped me…"

The newsboy's shoulders jumped for a moment, and Willie knew he was hiding a chuckle. Before he could excuse himself, the newsboy commented, "You oughta grow a backbone, kid. Give whoever did that what-for. You do know how to fight, don't ya?"

"I was taught," Willie said stiffly, "that fighting is for barbarians and idiots."

With a knowing smirk, the newsboy said, "It's also for fellas who get their asses kicked every day, and wanna do somethin' about it…"

Stunned, Willie stared for a moment. He realized that he and this newsboy were polar opposites, physically and mentally. Willie shook his head and asked incredulously, "Who are you, anyway?"

The newsboy chuckled. "Well, look who's on familiar terms all of a sudden. Didn't nobody tell that ain't the way to ask for a fella's name?"  


Automatically, Willie stammered out an apology. The newsboy laughed again. "I'm kiddin'! Christ, what do I gotta go to get a laugh outta you plutes? The name's Higgins. Racetrack Higgins. How's about you?"

"William Wright. You can call me Willie." He extended his hand for a shake. Putting his cigar between his teeth, Racetrack stuck out his left hand. Confused, Willie hesitated for a moment before switching hands and shaking awkwardly. It was apparent that Racetrack hadn't even been instructed on how to give a gentleman's handshake. Although, Willie hazarded that Racetrack wasn't much of a gentleman anyway.

Racetrack took a pocket watch from his vest pocket and flipped it open and shut. "Sorry, Willie, but if I stand here much longer, I ain't eatin' today. Maybe I'll see ya around some other time," Racetrack glanced once more at Willie's wet clothes, "maybe when you're dry. So long…" He turned away and started down the street without another word.

Willie stared after him for a moment. He had perhaps never met anyone who was so uncivilized and forward with people they didn't even know. What must his parents think of him? Willie tried to reason that at least Racetrack Higgins hadn't tried (very hard) to make fun of him further, which he very easily could of. Racetrack looked like a boy who was just brimming with cheek. But as another fast, cold wind blew, Willie was brought back to the fact that he needed to get back to his aunt's apartment, and soon. He gave his coat a hitch and held his cap down against the fierce wind, and broke into a run down to Fifth Avenue.


	2. Chapter 2

_Despite my run-in with the newsboy, I never forgot that I would have to come home and face my aunt. Honestly, I didn't know how I was going to break any kind of news to her. Mildred was always a bitter and demanding woman. I went to live with her as young boy after my parents died. Nothing I ever did was good enough for her. She had no friends, her servants hated her, and most of all I hated every day I lived with her. The problem was, no one dared stand up to her. So I suppose I must have been half-crazy when I finally did…_

Mildred Wright's apartment was a penthouse on Fifth Avenue, and she never let anyone forget it. The lavish apartment wasn't extravagantly large, but large enough for a wealthy bachelorette and her nephew. Mildred spent the majority of her time in the parlor, the most elegant room in the house, solely for that reason. So when Willie entered the apartment, he had no choice but to pass by his aunt, who was lounging in a chaise lounge chair and looking at new dress designs she bade Willie to pick up from the dressmaker two days ago. When Willie entered, his head bowed, she glanced up at him, and her catlike eyes widened.

"What in the world happened to you?" she demanded standing and throwing her dress designs forcefully on the chair. Willie stood where he was, eyes cast down, as Mildred strode over to him and looked over his wet clothes. "Disgusting," she muttered, taking her nephew's wet hat between her thumb and finger. A maidservant approached and offered to take it. Mildred tossed it to her, and instructed her to remove Willie's coat as well. Hearing this, Willie quickly stripped off his own coat and handed it to the maidservant. He knew that sometimes his aunt could forget that he was fourteen and not four.

The water had not soaked through to his shirt or vest, but Willie's pants were still wet. He did not sit for this reason, and after the maidservant rushed away, Mildred looked over him with a critical eye. "Now what happened, William? How did—this—happen?" She gestured to his wet trousers with distaste.

Willie gulped and shifted. His usual reply when he came home with scratches or bruises or other ailments from Otis and Harold was to say it was his own fault, and Mildred would scold him for being so careless and leave it at that. But he had promised himself that he couldn't suffer any longer, and now that he was fourteen he had to start being a man. The most difficult part was starting, he realized, and telling his aunt that he had taken a lot from some of the boys at school. But then there would come the truly challenging part: telling his aunt that he no longer wanted to go to school.

Mildred was waiting. Willie looked at her and forced the words to come out of his mouth. "Two of the boys at school threw me into a puddle."

"_Threw_ you into a puddle?" Mildred echoed, stunned.

Willie cringed at the sharp sound of her tone. "Yes," he said through grit teeth. "They've been giving me trouble for a long time. And today I decided I wouldn't put myself through it any longer. I…" he hesitated for a moment, and had to force the words out. "I've decided I don't want to go to school any more…"

Mildred's eyes flashed with a sudden anger. "What?"

Despite himself, Willie folded under her gaze. He averted his eyes again, and his voice lowered considerably. "I'm fourteen now, Auntie. I don't have to go to school anymore. I don't want to. I don't like the people there, and I don't think I'm getting anything useful out of it…"

"Listen to yourself!" Mildred cried shrilly. "Not getting anything useful out of it! William, how are you going to get along in life if you don't have school under your belt? If you don't go to high school, you can forget about succeeding in life! This is not how I raised you!"  


Willie's body tensed. Mildred had a voice that made fingernails on a blackboard sound like a serenade. He considered backing out, just saying he was just kidding or that he was indeed acting rashly. But how could he? Being so weak was what got him into this trouble in the first place. Over Mildred's rant he called out, "Auntie, I'm not happy! Not at all. And I don't want to keep being unhappy. So I don't want to go to that school, or any school."

"No chance!" Mildred cried. "So long as you live under my roof, you are getting an education! Good Lord, William, what would your parents think?"

At the mention of his parents, Willie bit his lip. Aunt Mildred never mentioned her sister and brother-in-law, except when she wanted to get under her nephew's skin. Mildred used Willie's parents like a weapon she could wield to get him to behave. With a deep breath, Willie replied, "My parents…would want me to be happy."

"They would want you to go to school like a good boy!" Mildred snapped, undaunted.

"It's not about me going to school," Willie insisted, trying to reason. "I'd gladly go to school. But I'm just tired of getting thrown into puddles and into walls and down stairs! You don't understand. If school is making me this miserable, I don't want to go any longer."

Mildred's nostrils flared. "Don't use that tone with me!"

"What _tone_?"

"William Wright! You stop this at once! So long as you live under my roof…"

Willie's temper flared again. "Will you stop saying that!" he cried, and Mildred went into a shocked silence. Willie found himself equally shocked and fearful. "I-I'm sorry," he stammered. "But…I never chose to live here. And maybe…" he gulped, but went on, knowing he should before Aunt Mildred could get a word in, "…maybe I don't want to live under your roof anymore."

"William!"

Willie hadn't planned on saying that, but the words opened up a new door of opportunity. Did he really not have to stay with his aunt anymore? It seemed surreal, and yet the idea wasn't all that far-fetched. He didn't know where he would go, or what he could do, but his sudden sensation of freedom left no room for thought and reason. All he knew was, if he just stayed with this one decision, he could be free of the two things in his life that were causing him so much trouble: the boys at school, and his Aunt Mildred.

He cast his gaze on Mildred again. She was coming toward him, and he backed away from her. "I'm going!" he cried. "I have to go…"

"_William_!"

Willie stopped, almost mechanically. Mildred reached him and clutched his shoulder with one hand and his ear with the other. Her face was livid, and she said in a voice piercing enough to rattle the walls, "Ungrateful boy! Unappreciative little swine! How _dare_ you?" Willie cried out as his aunt tugged at his ear, pulling him toward his bedroom. "I raised you better than this!" Mildred wrenched open the door to Willie's bedroom and pulled him inside.

Willie gasped, "You're hurting me!" as he staggered through the door. His ear was released, and he cupped a hand over it ruefully as he turned to face his aunt. Mildred's eyes blazed as she commanded, "You'll stay in here for the night. No supper. And I don't want to hear a sound!" With that, the door slammed.

Then, silence. Willie stood in the middle of the floor, rubbing his sore ear. _Stupid!_ he thought savagely. He shouldn't have said anything. What a stupid idea he had, thinking he could get away with telling his aunt something like that. And then prattling on about leaving: that was even worse. Willie wondered where he got the gall to announce that he would rather live on the street than with his aunt. He acted rashly and stupidly, and now not only would he be just as miserable as he always had been, but his aunt would hate him. More importantly…he would hate himself.

His train of thought made him realize something. "Goodness!" he exclaimed, collapsing on his bed. Had he become so cowardly that he was unable to disagree when someone said what he'd done was wrong? Wasn't there a reason he said all those things in the first place? And who was Aunt Mildred to condemn him? Why couldn't he live on his own? Wouldn't he be happier? Didn't he have a say in where his own life was going? Didn't he have a say of who he wanted to be?

So many decisions had been left up to others, because Willie had been too young to decide for himself. And look where they had gotten him: a fourteen-year-old weakling who found himself bowing under even the slightest pressure, who knew of nothing but etiquette and misery. He had the chance to fix things, and even fix himself. Why, then, was he still hesitating?

The fact that there was no reason made Willie smile.


	3. Chapter 3

_I didn't think anything of my encounter with Racetrack. I just took him to be another rude street kid, and I knew that I probably wouldn't see him again. Even if I did, I doubted he would talk to me at all. But I've learned that your life has a funny way of foreshadowing things, and maybe making things easier for you later on. But I've also learned that your life can't get much easier until it gets harder. What I did that night seemed to be one of the worst decisions of my life. But I had no way of knowing it would turn out to be one of the best…_

It was about one o'clock in the morning. The rogue winds of the chill November night made Willie shiver slightly. But he ignored the sensation as he walked down Fifth Avenue at a fast clip, looking over his shoulder every so often to make sure that no one had heard him rise from bed and leave the apartment, and followed him out of his aunt's house: a maidservant or butler, or even Aunt Mildred herself. No one had. Willie found himself smiling slightly as he turned the corner, and the Fifth Avenue penthouse was out of sight.

Willie didn't know where he was going, and he tried not to care. He would worry about things when he needed to. But now he was gone away, and he had to focus on that. For now he only wanted to get away from the penthouse, no matter where the darkened streets would take him. Fierce winds, a reminder that December was approaching, forced him to cross his arms over his chest in an attempt to warm himself, despite his overcoat and scarf. He carried nothing with him except in his inner vest pocket: forty-three cents of accumulated allowance, a small sum, but it seemed to be all he would need.

About a half hour later, Willie began to tire of walking. He slowed his pace and looked around where he had ended up. It was an unfamiliar intersection, the streets lit dimly by the gas streetlights. As he stopped and looked around, Willie yawned, and realized how tired he was. He knew he would have to sleep before he could go any further. But he took a moment to think as well. What would happen in the morning when his aunt realized he was gone? She would undoubtedly call the police, and he would have every officer in New York looking for him. He hadn't thought of that previously, but there wasn't much he could do about it at this point. He tried to tell himself that the police didn't scare him, and almost convinced himself.

He yawned again. Sleep. Looking around, he had trouble thinking of a place to rest. What was he expecting, a cot to materialize on the sidewalk? Willie began peering into alleyways, and finally entered one that appeared empty. It was next to a dressmaker's shop, and Willie was pleased to find a large array of fabric scraps thrown into boxes. Utilizing what he could as a blanket, he stretched himself out on top of the wooden crates, and shifted until he experienced something that resembled comfort. Eventually, he drifted off into a light sleep.

Willie didn't even stir until he felt himself be lifted into the air and thrown onto the ground. He landed with a thud and a yell, and looked up to see three menacing faces scowling down at him. The one who had thrown him down, a large teenage boy with fair hair picked him up again roughly by his collar. "This is our alley, fink. Get the hell outta here…"

Pulling to get free, Willie realized once more how powerless he was. The fair-haired boy was at least twice his size, and he wasn't letting go no matter how much Willie struggled. As he looked on helplessly, the other two boys grabbed at his coat and scarf. Willie struggled again, but a hit in the stomach from a boy with bucked teeth silenced him immediately. He was pushed every which way until the buck-toothed boy had his coat, and the third thug, an Irishman, held Willie's scarf in his hand. The buck-toothed boy looked through the coat pockets, and came up empty handed. "He got nothin', boss…" he said to the fair-haired boy.

"Then shove off, rat," the fair-haired boy said to Willie fiercely. Willie didn't need telling twice. He ran out of the alley and into the streets. It was early morning, and the city was alive with people. No one paid him any attention, the boy gasping for air and holding his aching stomach, walking through the streets at the crack of dawn with no coat or scarf. He must look like another street urchin, he thought, and was almost panicked by the thought. He 

wasn't an urchin, he was just a boy. He had a home, didn't he? He just didn't want to go back to it, not anymore. Despite that, the fact remained that he needed a place to sleep, or else, who knew where he would end up? But how could he find somewhere? He suddenly realized that in the dark he hadn't been able to see where he was going. Had be crossed into Harlem? Greenwich Village? Where was Central Park?

His bearings lost, Willie started to panic. This was insanity. He would have to ask someone how to get to Fifth Avenue, and once he was in a familiar area he wouldn't worry anymore. He glanced around at the faces on the street until he spotted a woman who seemed to have an open face. He approached her timidly. "Pardon me, ma'am…" he said cordially.

He was surprised when the woman glared down at him angrily and tried to push on her way. She said brusquely, "I don't have spare change."

"I'm not looking for change, ma'am." Willie said, trying to keep his composure.

"I've heard that one before. Now you'll ask for work, or else a meal! Well, better luck with someone else." She passed him and continued on her way. Willie looked on as a man, assumedly her husband, met up with her in front of a store, and she shook her head to him and said in a voice loud enough for Willie to overhear, "Honestly, where are the police? Every street in this city, packed with street rats! Look there, the boy asking me for alms…"

Before the gentleman could set his gaze on him, Willie fled. He ran until he reached a watchmaker's shop, and leaned against the brick wall, attempting to catch his breath again. His mind was in a flurry. The woman had mistaken him for a street rat begging for money. Did he look like a street rat? He glanced down at his person. Clothes slightly rumpled from sleeping in them, and streaked with dirt from his fight in the alley. No coat in late November. At least the alley boys had allowed Willie to get away with his touring cap. He wasn't exactly polished in appearance, but he certainly didn't look like any street rat!

"Boy!" a voice barked. Willie turned to see the watchmaker, a small English man, leaning his head out the door to the shop, looking rather superior. "Clear out, now, I don't need little homeless lads frightening away all my customers…"

"But I'm not…"

"Now, now, clear out! Before I have to call an officer?" The watchmaker looked impatient. Willie stared for a moment, and then kept walking the way he'd been heading. Satisfied, the watchmaker retreated inside his store again. Willie sighed heavily and quickened his pace. He wondered if anyone else would answer him if he asked for directions. But based on his previous experiences, he highly doubted it. He would have to clean himself up, but how? He couldn't buy new clothes, he had so little money, and he couldn't think of what he would do if the money he had ran out. Maybe he should just go back home…

But then what was waiting for him there? Aunt Mildred was probably beside herself with anger at this point, and Willie probably had every police officer in New York looking for him. What would happen if he was to go back? He realized that since the night had passed, he was better off staying where he was, and for all the days after that. He could start again, but how? How and where and what? He didn't know.

A light snow began to fall. Willie glanced up at the gray sky and cursed it. Other people were also slightly surprised: Snow this early? To some children it would be quite the blessing, but for the young man with no coat or scarf and no home to go back to, it was possibly the worst thing that could have happened. The frozen flakes fell upon his shoulders and turned to cold water there, making him shiver. _Oh Lord_, he thought helplessly, _what have I done?_


	4. Chapter 4

_I don't know exactly what gave me the drive to get through that first day on my own. Maybe it was only because I couldn't face my aunt after what I'd done. Or else, maybe I just didn't want to be the coward everyone always accused me of being. Whatever the reason, I started to question my sanity as night fell on the first day. I didn't know how I was going to live every day like that first one. But then, when things started to look their worst, someone showed me the way…_

Willie was stirred from his uncomfortable sleep by a sharp pain in his ribs. He jolted awake, and as soon as he was able to register where he was—on the ground in the middle of a sidewalk—he was kicked again in the rear. The foot belonged to a mustachioed fruit vendor who had apparently had enough of the snoring teenager asleep at the side of his cart. Willie scrambled to his feet, and the vendor sneered, "Let's go, find someplace else!" Not wanting to get hit by anything else, Willie hurried away, groggy and aching.

It wasn't until he was away from the fruit vendor and well into the crowded street that he realized how terrible he was feeling, and no wonder why. The previous night, he had wandered around the streets in the snow, desperately trying to find somewhere familiar and only getting himself more lost. Soon, the streets were all but empty, and he was exhausted. He'd collapsed on a spare tarp next to a grocery cart, and fell into a deep sleep. The snow had turned to rain during the night, and Willie woke up soaking wet and freezing. But his head was heavy and warm to the touch, and he didn't doubt he'd gotten sick from staying out in the cold rain.

He shivered in the cold, and closed his eyes against his throbbing headache. His hat was wet, not exactly helping his cold, and he took it off and stuffed it in his pocket. Suddenly he was aware of the biting pain in his stomach. When was the last time he'd eaten anything? Not since lunch at school, the day he left Aunt Mildred's house. Luckily he hadn't lost any of his money, what with all the things he'd gone through in the past twelve hours or so. He walked down the street until he found a woman peddling bread, and spent three cents for a good-sized loaf. He ate it quickly, and only after he had only a morsel left in his hands did he realize he'd eaten close to all of it in one serving. He couldn't do something like that for every meal, he thought sadly. What happened when his money ran out?

Willie hadn't wanted to think about that, but now that his money supply had diminished even slightly, it was something he had to think about. Stealing to get food crossed his mind, but he didn't think he could steal from anyone; one, because of his morals were too strong; and two, he probably didn't have to skill to be a thief anyway. How did someone go about earning money? He'd never had to work for any of his money before, so he didn't know how to go about it. He suddenly was sorry he'd been brought up by such a rich woman. Now that he had to fend for himself, he was lost.

Quickly he touched his pocket to make sure the rest of his money was secure, and put the small bit of bread in his free trouser pocket. Standing on a street corner, he looked around and wondered where he should go next. Now that he didn't have to be anywhere, he didn't know where to go. The thought was almost enough to make him chuckle. He decided that walking around was the only thing he could do. He was fairly sure he couldn't get much more lost than he was, so he didn't have to worry about where he was going. If the slight fear and apprehension would go away, it was almost a good feeling.

As he walked, he stole glances at the shop windows that lined the streets. His reflection in the darkened window of a dress shop caught his eye, and he staggered to a stop, gawking. Good Lord, he looked a mess! His clothes were dirty, hair disheveled, face streaked with mud from the tarp... Was two days all it took for a respectable boy to become a street rat? How many street rats had once been just like him, with a good life, but a life that had all the wrong things and nothing they truly wanted? His good feeling gone, he bit his lower lip, too his hat out of his pocket and pulled it back on his head again. It was damp still, and now wrinkled, but it was better than nothing.

Willie had been walking for a while, and had gotten very used to people acting like he wasn't there at all. But suddenly, a voice coming from the street made him raise his head: "Boy!"

He glanced up to see a constable on horseback, a leer on his face. Willie came to a dead stop and gaped up at the officer. Had Aunt Mildred told the police about him running away? Had he been recognized? He gulped and stammered, "Yes, sir?"

"Are you heading home, son?" the officer asked conversationally. He was stopped on the side of the street. People passed by Willie without even looking twice, as if he was just an unfortunate roadblock that would probably be gone by the time they came that way again.

Willie wasn't sure how to answer. He could lie and say yes, but he hated lying under any circumstances. He'd been raised to know that lying would only worsen any situation. So, hesitantly, he said, "No…not exactly."

The officer's face darkened visibly. Willie suddenly knew he'd given a very wrong answer. Automatically, the officer had assumed that Willie didn't have a home. What did the police do to street kids? The officer dismounted his horse and stepped toward Willie. Automatically, Willie took a step back. The officer said darkly, "I think you better come with me, son…"

"I-I haven't done anything!" Willie cried. Before he could step back again, the officer grabbed him by the collar. Willie struggled and tried to pull away, the thought of his last fight at the schoolyard crossing his mind, but the officer had him.

"Street rat…" he sneered, pulling Willie off the sidewalk and into the street. "Good thing this city has men like me to put guttersnipes like you in the refuge where you belong…"

"Let me go, please!" Willie pleaded, tugging at the officer's hand, trying to pry himself free. "Let me go! I didn't do anything! Someone please help me!" He glanced desperately at the sidewalk, but amazingly no one paid him any mind. They kept walking as if they didn't even hear him. How could they just ignore him like that, not even looking his way? The officer was taking him across the street. To where? The refuge?…the refuge! He couldn't go there, no! Willie's eyes grew panicked, and he continued to struggle.

"What's all this, Officer Wren?" said a thin, withered voice. The officer stopped and looked toward the voice. Willie tried to seize the opportunity to bolt, but he found the officer's grip to be painfully strong. Defeated for the moment, he glanced over at the man who had spoken. It was an older man in lower-class garb, carrying what appeared to be groceries. The old man was frail in body and voice, but Willie noticed strength in his eyes and gait.

Officer Wren didn't look at all pleased to see the old man. "Good morning, Mr. Kloppman. This boy needs to be taken to the refuge," he answered gruffly. "He's communicated to me that he doesn't have a home to go to."

"I said nothing of the sort!" Willie cried indignantly. Officer Wren gave Willie's arm a sharp twist, making Willie cry out.

Kloppman immediately looked concerned. "Well you couldn't take the boy there! He's registered at my lodging house, he is! Ain't that right, son?" He looked expectantly at Willie.

"Yes, sir, Officer!" Willie agreed eagerly. He knew nothing of Mr. Kloppman or the lodging house, but anywhere sounded better than the Manhattan refuge. "My name…is Joe Harper." Willie had to keep himself from flinching. He had blurted out the first name he could think of, and it ended up being a character from _The Adventures of Tom Sawyer_. He hoped desperately that the officer was not a well-read man, and that his hesitation was imperceptible.

Officer Wren's gaze went from Willie to Kloppman. "Would that be correct, Mr. Kloppman?"

"It certainly is, Officer Wren. I'm heading back to the lodging house now; I'll take young Joe back with me. Make sure he doesn't get into any more mischief." Kloppman offered the officer a complacent grin before turning his attention back to Willie. "Poke up, Joe, let's head back now…"

Willie broke free of the officer's hold and didn't spare him another glance as he walked alongside the old man down the street. Once Willie was sure the officer was far behind them, he said breathlessly, "I can't thank you enough, Mr. Kloppman. You really saved me back there…"

"You looked as if you could use a helping hand, son." Kloppman nodded in response. To Willie's great surprise, the old man next asked, "So. Joe Harper's a bit far from Missouri, eh? Where are Tom and Huck?"

"I'm sorry, sir. It was the first name that came to mind…" Willie confessed, full of chagrin.

"That so? Now what might your real name be, Master Harper?"

"It's Willie, sir. Willie Wright."

Kloppman eyed Willie with an expression that the boy couldn't quite place. "Do you have somewhere to head home to, Willie?" he asked.

Willie hesitated for a moment. He decided that telling this man the truth wouldn't be detrimental, after everything he had done to help him. "No, sir, I don't."

"If that's the case, Willie, that officer was quite right to take you to the refuge. The streets of this city are dangerous for a lad like yourself."

Willie was suddenly embarrassed. He knew that better than anyone. He barely survived his first night living on his own, and the first time he had gotten into any kind of real trouble, he was helpless without someone else stepping in and saving him. "Yes sir."

"But I happen to know," Kloppman continued, slightly bitter, "that the things that go on in that refuge make a life on these streets seem like a vacation in the country. I won't ever suffer to see a boy taken to that prison, so long as I breathe." He paused for a moment, and glanced at Willie again. "Can you read, Willie?"

"Yes sir, very well."

"Loud voice?"

"…Pardon? Well—I suppose so…"

"Good. Because only newsboys can stay at the lodging house." Kloppman grinned wryly and entered the Uhlig & Co. Cloth House building. On the second floor was the Newsboys Lodging House. Willie stopped for a moment, and could only stare. Selling papers? It seemed impossible. He'd never had to sell anything in his life; he didn't know the first thing about being a newsboy! But through his uncertainty, he felt something else—a desire to carry on his decision for a new life. And so, very afraid, Willie Wright followed Kloppman into the lodging house.


	5. Chapter 5

_I really was grateful for Kloppman stepping in and saving my sorry hide from the refuge. At the time, I didn't know that, by taking me to the lodging house to be a newsboy, he might have saved my life, too. Who knows where I would have been after a few more days or weeks on the streets? As a newsboy, I would have money and a roof over my head, as well as a cover: Aunt Mildred wouldn't look for me selling newspapers. But selling papers was entirely new to me, and I didn't expect it to be easy. And was I ever right. It didn't take long for me to realize that I was in way over my head…_

The lodging house was empty when Willie entered. He found himself in a room that looked not unlike the lobby of a hotel—a very small, very old, and very dirty hotel. There was a staircase to his left, and a desk directly in front of him, with an open ledger on top of it. Willie hazarded forward and glanced at the ledger. About seventeen names were registered, but it looked as if no newcomers had come to the lodging house in several months. Willie was surprised to see that some of the newsboys had signed the ledger years ago.

Kloppman emerged from a doorway behind the front desk. He tapped the ledger with one finger. "You'll have to sign there, son," he instructed, pulling a pencil from his pocket and tossing it down. "Now that you've told one bull you're called Joe Harper, you'll have to keep that name up, at least around their sort. Write that down, then…" As Willie did as he was told, Kloppman took to studying him again. "You a runaway, Willie?" The boy nodded. "Then you'll want to change that date there. Put down the second of November to make it seem like you've been here a while, in case someone tries to look for you here…"

Willie hesitated. "I wouldn't want to be dishonest. Your records wouldn't be accurate…"

"I take more of an interest in the boys I house than how accurate my records are," Kloppman said, surprisingly firmly for an old man.

After another second of apprehension, Willie wrote in a date several weeks earlier next to his false name. Already he was beginning to feel uneasy. In the short time he had been acquainted with Kloppman, he had been forced to lie on three occasions: insisting that he lived at the lodging house, giving a false name, and now falsifying records. Willie had been taught that liars were criminals, and they were always discovered eventually. It bothered him a bit that Kloppman hadn't batted an eye throughout the entire episode.

"Now listen good," Kloppman said, and Willie immediately obeyed. "Twelve cents a day here will get you your evening meal and a bunk for the night. If you can't pay we'll make some kind of a deal. The boys here sell the New York _World_, the paper over on Frankfort Street. Morning edition goes on sale at seven o'clock; you wake up at five to get ready and head over there. The evening edition goes on sale at four o'clock. You buy them at the distribution office from Weasel at two for a cent. Sell them to the customers at a penny each, got that?"

Willie nodded, hoping he could keep everything straight in his head, and also hoping that everything would make more sense as time went on. Kloppman's instruction was helpful, but Willie had the daunting feeling that at some point, he was going to make some kind of mistake. Kloppman looked at a pocket watch, sighed, and mumbled something about throwing the beans on before the boys came home. As the old man slipped out of the room again, Willie found himself at a loss. Was there anything he was supposed to be doing? Timidly, he walked around the room and acquainted himself with his surroundings. Through a door located next to the staircase was a small lounge, so crammed with furniture that Willie wondered how people fit in there as well. An archway to the right of the front desk led to a large mess hall, with several long tables and benches. As Willie returned to the front desk and flipped through the ledger again, the door behind him burst open with a bang. He jumped and whirled around, as several boys poured through the door. They stopped abruptly when they saw Willie standing at the desk. One of them demanded, "Who're you?"

Five pairs of eyes looked at him: curiously, confusedly, accusingly. He was too stunned to speak. One of the boys said loudly, "What, is he deaf or somethin'?"

Another one yelled: "Hey, pinhead! Are you deaf?"

Willie managed to shake his head in reply.

"So who are ya?"

"I'm…" Willie came close to giving his real name, but remembered that Kloppman had said to continue with his false one. "I'm Joe Harper."

"What're you doin' _here_?"

"Don't be a moron, Itey!" A newsboy cut in before Willie could answer. "Anybody with half a brain could see he's a new kid…you a new kid, Harper?"

"New—new kid? I—yes." Willie hated himself. He must have been coming off as a nervous wreck, if not a half-wit. He was undeniably intimidated by the group of boys standing in front of him: their ragged clothes, hardened expressions, and most of all colloquial behavior. They had no idea how to address a stranger, or how to introduce themselves, apparently. In his world of manners and etiquette, Willie had always known exactly who he was speaking with, and how to speak to them based on that. Now that the boys had not properly introduced themselves, he was uninformed, and very uncomfortable about it.

The boys laughed, and in the midst of it, Willie could hear one of them cry, "Fresh meat!" which increased his discomfort. One of them at last stepped forward from the group. He was not a large boy, but Willie found him somehow unapproachable nonetheless. He noted with interest that this boy had the distinction of wearing his cap backwards. "Good to have you here, Joe Harper," the boy said. "The name's Snitch." He offered Willie his hand. Finally, Willie thought with relief, some decency! But as he reached for a handshake, Snitch took his hand away, spit in his palm, and reoffered it.

Willie recoiled. "That's repulsive!" he cried. "Have you _no_ sense of decorum?"

He had never before heard five people scoff collectively. "No sense of _what_ now?" one of them jeered.

"Shut the hell up," Snitch commanded, and returned his attention to Willie. "You ain't visiting no queen here, Joe. So forget about decorating or whatever you're goin' on about…"

"I won't!" Willie shook his head, intending to stay firm. "Is this any way to behave when introducing yourself to a perfect stranger? I should think you were taught better than that!" Snitch's appalling display had offended Willie to the point where he completely forgot his apprehension toward the newsboys.

"Look, Harper." Snitch's voice could not have been more unfriendly. "I don't know where _you're_ from, but around here _we_ don't got nobody to teach us anything."

"Yeah," someone else interrupted, "so don't go around like you're all high and mighty about it!"

Willie suddenly remembered the newsboy he had met on the street the day Otis and Harold threw him into a puddle, and it seemed a lifetime ago. He remembered the newsboy as being openly vulgar and rude. It became clear, faced with several more of them, that they were all the same, or most of them at least. Would he have to live with such crude behavior now that the lodging house was his home? Could he throw away everything that he had ever learned about how to behave on a normal day, just to coexist with them? Willie had no doubt that this would be the case. In the tense stretch of silence that followed, Willie swallowed his pride. "All right," he said, and attempted to mimic their colloquial way of speech. "No more manners, if it will make you all happy." He did not feel like he was succeeding in speaking informally, and decided not to try so hard. "My name's Joe Harper. And you are?"

Their reaction was not a warm one, but he got a response at last. The first one to speak was a short boy with the butt of a cigar between his teeth, and Willie could tell with a single look that he was an explosive one. "Snipeshooter," the boy said around his cigar. A boy who had his cap on with the brim pointing to the side introduced himself as Itey. Another with a bowler hat and a nose that was hyperbolically upturned was called Jake. The last boy was called Swifty the Rake.

"The rake?" Willie repeated askance, wondering why in the world anyone would choose to be called a rake.

"Yeah, got a problem, Joey?" Snipeshooter said sharply. Willie shook his head fervently, making the boys snicker.

Willie had trouble thinking of something to say after that. It was all too clear to him that every one of these boys were rakes, and wondered what Swifty had done to earn him the term as part of his actual nickname. The abundance of nicknames bothered him, as well. Willie considered it rude to introduce yourself with anything but your real name on first acquaintance. And he had certainly not seen any Snipeshooters or Iteys when he had gone through the ledger…

"So Harper," Jake said in a conversational tone. "What's your story?"

"Huh?"

"What brings you here?" Jake rephrased, with a little less patience in his voice.

"Oh." Willie had the feeling that he couldn't make up some elaborate story about his past without these boys knowing he was lying. He had told enough lies, he decided. "Well…Mr. Kloppman brought me here…"

He was interrupted as the boys laughed again. "_Mister_ Kloppman?" Itey chortled.

"I ain't never heard nobody call him that!" Snitch cried, clearly bemused. "You call him Kloppman, Joe, if you don't want the other fellas to think you're crazy…"

Willie kept himself from flinching. He had forgotten that there would be more of them, and he would have to become acquainted with all of them before long. He didn't think he could stand another encounter like the one he'd had with these boys. As bad luck would have it, the front door opened again. The crowd of boys already inside cleared out of the way, and Willie could see four more boys enter, one of whom was very familiar.

Apparently, the boy recognized him, as well, and sang out right away before Willie could signal him to keep quiet. "Ain't you Willie?" Racetrack Higgins pointed to him. "That plute with the wet trousers I came across the other day?"

A little boy who had just entered giggled candidly. The five who had met Willie previously, however, were not amused. "He told us his name was Joe!" Snitch said.

And Willie found himself fixed under the gaze of no less than nine newsboys. None of them were laughing.


End file.
